


under a poet's moon

by scandalousloki



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Banter, Break Up, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Hair Braiding, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Lots of poems, M/M, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mild Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, obviously for poetic purposes, these boys love bantering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalousloki/pseuds/scandalousloki
Summary: Jaskier is a hopeless romantic and a poet, who accidentally falls in love with his best friend. His only coping mechanism is to write about it... Who knows how well that'll turn it for him? (aka, a modern Geraskier love story featuring the poems Jaskier writes in his journal over time.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 49
Kudos: 141





	1. one: ill-timed august rain

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier is sad, but everything will be okay. Some themes may be mature, eventually.

**Chapter Summary** : Jaskier makes an inconvenient discovery about his feelings after an incident with some food.

**Chapter Notes** : Whoop whoop, here’s to first chapters! Hope you all enjoy this poetry compilation of a story. Heads up, this chapter is a bit story-heavy, only because I didn’t want to throw you guys in an ocean of ambiguous poetry without a good amount of context. Enjoy! :)

❀❀❀ 

**\- August 4th -**

So maybe taking a two-mile walk to the park without first checking the weather forecast wasn’t Jaskier’s _brightest_ idea. But in his defense, he’s definitely made more questionable decisions with much less prompting before.

Besides, he has reason to believe that some of his best moments come from making artistically-charged impulsive decisions in the heat of the moment. Like the time he almost got run over by a red Camaro when trying to rescue a daisy that was growing in a crack in the middle of the road — a tragedy he still isn’t fully over, but alas. 

Despite his reasoning, though, he silently curses the poor planning skills that caused him to be in this particular predicament: standing under a scrawny tree in an unsuccessful attempt to keep himself from being drenched by the steadily falling rain. 

But here he is, being drenched by the steadily falling rain.

Transiently, he recognizes that he has a few options. He could call one of his theatre friends and ask for a ride back to his apartment, but that would require him relinquishing his pride and never hearing the end of a _you-soaked-my-car-so-dating-your-ex-boyfriend-is-only-fair_ argument. He could call his roommate, Geralt, which would still require him to relinquish some pride, but then he’d _also_ have to endure a lecture about his “poor planning skills” and “lack of self-preservation” — two things he’s already very, _very_ aware of, thank you very much. Or he could just walk home and risk ruining his clothes and writing more than he already has.

Geralt it is, he supposes.

He moves his drawstring bag from his back and shifts it to his side, sliding his journal and pen into it before taking his phone out. He calls Geralt.

An exasperated sigh falls out of the speakers before the man monotonously answers. “Hello.”

Jaskier hears something sounding like scanning, beeping, and people talking; he quickly infers that Geralt is at the store. 

“Hi, Geralt,” Jaskier says, hoping that the sound of the rain is loud enough for Geralt to assume his request without him actually having to say it.

There’s a pause. “Are you outside?” Hope granted, Jaskier thinks.

“Yes, actually! I, uh— I walked myself to the park earlier, when the weather was much, _much_ nicer— you saw it when I left, didn’t you? It was a little cloudy, but for the most part the sun was—”

“Did you check the forecast?” It’s a forgivable interruption, and Geralt sounds more expectant than just genuinely annoyed.

Jaskier huffs and crosses his arms, even though Geralt can’t see him. “...No.”

“Hmm,” adds Geralt helpfully, “Why’d you call?”

Jaskier thinks that Geralt is so much more of a dramatic ass than he admits to being. Jaskier hates resigning himself to begging — in this context — but the wind is directing the rain towards him, so he does it anyway.

“If you would be _so_ kind as to come and rescue me from this desecrating tempest, I would forever be in debt to you, my dearest friend.”

Geralt distantly thanks someone, and the sound of talking and beeping becomes gradually quieter. “No.” The call ends.

Jaskier uncrosses his arms, rolls his eyes and calls him again. He picks up. “I’ll buy you that super expensive conditioner you like, _and_ I’ll watch that really bad indie film with you.”

Geralt is quiet for a few seconds. Jaskier really hopes he isn’t going to have to call Pavetta.

“Send me the address, I’m on my way.” 

  
  


❀❀❀ 

Jaskier runs up to the burgundy truck when it pulls up near him. He is also pleasantly surprised when he sees Geralt with his hair tied back in a bun and a lavender, long sleeve, polyester shirt. It does wonders for his arms, Jaskier passively thinks, and his face. And his jawline. And— well, Geralt is attractive, anyone with eyes can see that.

In Geralt’s truck, which thankfully smells like the dark cherry car freshener that Jaskier got him a couple months ago, Jaskier sits in the passenger seat that Geralt has conveniently covered in plastic Walmart bags. It reminds Jaskier of the plastic wrapping his mother would keep on the furniture when he was little, after an incident with a new pack of Sharpie markers and a white couch.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Jaskier says, “Your charity is duly noted and appreciated.”

Geralt huffs a laugh and makes a left out of the park. “You bribed me. That’s the dictionary opposite of ‘charity’.”

“Touché,” Jaskier says before he stretches his back against the carseat and closes his eyes.

Geralt shakes his head and looks back at the road. “You hungry?”

Jaskier suddenly remembers that he literally hadn’t eaten since he left his apartment — something about “feeding himself with the fruit of poetry”, which sounded like blasphemy to him now. He turns to look at Geralt. “Yeah, actually.”

“I know it’s my week, so I’m making pasta when we get home, but—” Geralt quirks his head towards the backseat, “—I got you a guava pastry to hold you off.” 

Fuck. Jaskier wants to throw himself out of the window. He stifles down the urge and clears his throat. “Oh.. well, thank you.” 

So as not to seem ungrateful, Jaskier fights the weird tingling in his chest and reaches over to find his snack. 

Jaskier had to get over his elementary crush _ages_ ago, after Yen and Geralt started dating, but sometimes the fragments came up. It definitely didn't help that Geralt was such a good friend to him, and secretly had a heart of pure fucking gold. 

Jaskier finds the white pastry bag, takes a bite out of his warm treat, and pretends not to see Geralt subtly smiling at him. Jaskier silently curses his poor sense of self-preservation, and scolds his little artistic heart for its capacity for adoration. 

❀❀❀ 

The pages of his spiral notebook are drying in front of the small portable fan in his room. They’ll be at least salvageable by the time they're done, Jaskier thinks. So, in essence, Jaskier learned absolutely nothing from today’s events — which he was absolutely fine with.

Geralt knocks on his door.

Maybe Jaskier learned _one_ thing from today’s events.

“You can come in, Ger,” Jaskier says, turning in his swivel chair to face the door. 

With a soft creak, the door opens and Geralt slides though with a bowl emitting steam. “Food’s ready.”

The smell is heavenly, and Jaskier stands up so he can take the nutritional gift. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, _fuck_ I’m so hungry and it smells delicious. You have a real gift, Geralt. Seriously.”

Geralt grins, then grimaces when he watches Jaskier take the bowl by the hottest part. “Why would you—?”

“Hot, hot, _hot_ , ow shit. Fuck. So worth it,” Jaskier says the entire time he walks his food back to his desk. 

Geralt wears a curious look and then raises a brow in discontent. “You’re ridiculous.”

Jaskier blows him a sarcastic kiss, then watches Geralt leave as he fills his mouth with a savory spoon of fettuccine alfredo.

❀❀❀ 

Jaskier’s journal pages are not salvageable. In fact, all of the ink is smeared and none of the words are even a little bit legible. It’s probably for the best, most of those poems were about Valdo anyway. Still, it sucks a little bit to have to start over. Thankfully he’ll have more time to work on it with his gap semester.

Jaskier woefully trashes his soggy journal and looks for a fresh one. After foraging his room for half an hour, he finds an empty one with a chestnut brown cover and a fastening. Beautifully dramatic, he thinks, very fitting. He brings his pen to the third page. 

He slacks against his chair and searches the ceiling for something to write about, someone or something to feel for. Then he searches his cluttered desk for some half-assed analogy. He sees his empty pasta bowl.

The realization simmers and stings like the distant memory of an unchangeable feeling. 

He clicks the pen.

**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

maybe if i write it, it’ll stop being true 

the lingering remains of a crimson summer

and the chill of the hauntingly frigid frosts

snowflake fingertips melt into weeping puddles

as soon as they kiss the smoldering surface

be i the dying snowflake, dear,

to forfeit my life in the clouds once more

to fall to my defeat again 

for a short-lived kiss to the summer sand

be i the fool who plagues the sky

the one who begs to mourn and love

the one who bites the serpent’s fruit

and dies forever, just for you

— 

Jaskier reads the lines again, finding comfort in the terrifying revelation he’s made, and goes to sleep.


	2. two: seasick at home, homesick at bay

**Chapter Summary** : Jaskier's discovery is very inconvenient, and his poetry shows how truly upsetting it all is. Geralt starts to wonder what's wrong with him. Jaskier makes some questionable decisions.

**Chapter Notes** : This chapter is a little dense, which was not at all what I anticipated but alas! Here's some somber yearning, and more of their incomparable platonic-roommate-friend dynamic.

❀❀❀ 

**\- August 10th -**

Geralt spends all afternoon at work, leaving Jaskier alone with no distraction from his affliction. It’s entirely upsetting, the whole situation.

Jaskier considers grabbing lunch with some friends, or doing just about anything, really. But then that sounds like so much more trouble than it’s worth. He’s still half-naked in bed, after all, and that fact is not going to change within the next half hour.

Jaskier thinks about the first and only time he’d seen Geralt shirtless— which happened to be the day that Jaskier picked up the habit of knocking. It was entirely an accident, he remembers, but Geralt was only flustered for half a second before returning to emotional normalcy; Jaskier, however, was not so lucky. He stumbled over his words and pertly snapped his gaze up towards the ceiling, like a five-year-old when a kissing scene came on. The memory embarrasses him even now.

Though Jaskier wasn’t surprised at Geralt’s firm build, he was comforted by the normalcy Geralt showed him, like it didn’t even matter that Jaskier was seeing him in such a way. Geralt had previously spoken about being self-conscious all throughout his life, constantly scrutinizing his personality and physicality — honestly, Jaskier couldn’t understand why. 

But that’s the thing, isn't it? The innate self-depreciation we’re born with acts opposite the capacity for love and adoration we have for things unrelated to ourselves.

Jaskier reaches on his nightstand for his journal and thumbs open a page.

  
  


**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal :**

silver beast and silver knight 

the tamely beast, the cowering knight

both basking in the evening’s light

where both lie weak, where both stand strong 

where neither speak, deceit prolongs

the knight knows only silver sword,

and silver love for his silver lord

the beast who preens along the ground

knows nothing but the life he found

the tamely beast, the cowering knight,

and he who’s slain after their fight

the knight speared by his silver sword

and the mourning beast, his silver lord

❀❀❀

**\- August 16th -**

Jaskier finally keeps his end of the bargain and sits down to watch “Clandestine Cynosure” with Geralt. The title, in itself, is already a rigid product of the English language that makes Jaskier want to bury his head in his hands forever. But he made a promise, and he never backs away from promises. 

Jaskier sits criss-cross-apple-sauce on their suede sofa, a bowl of overly buttered popcorn sat perfectly between his legs. Geralt is eating a granola bar, the scoundrel, with one arm resting off the side of the sofa. 

As usual, Jaskier makes small comments and inquiries frequently throughout the film, to which Geralt simply replies, “Hm.” Jaskier tries very hard to forgive the incoherent plot and inconsistent aesthetics that show themselves within the first five minutes, but it proves to be quite difficult.

Geralt watches Jaskier’s scrunched up facial expression and smirks proudly. From his peripheral vision, Jaskier observes this and shakes off his fondness in favor of saying, “This is quite bad, Geralt.”

Geralt shrugs and adjusts his back against the seat. “It might get better.”

Jaskier shakes his head in defeat and pops a kernel into his mouth. He looks at Geralt again, observing how his body is twisted at an odd angle to his legs, which cannot be comfortable at all. He sets his popcorn bowl down.

“Ger,” he pats his thigh and gestures towards Geralt’s legs, “Put your feet up, you look like you’re hurting your spine.”

Geralt frowns uncertainly. “I’m fine.” 

Jaskier isn’t buying it. He reaches over, pulls one of Geralt’s legs, and sits it on his lap. Geralt scowls, but brings the other leg up, as well.

“Thank you. Now we can both enjoy the horrible movie with maximum comfort!”

Geralt shoots him a _“really?”_ look, and then wiggles his toes violently. Jaskier laughs and slaps his knee in jest. 

❀❀❀

The movie ends up making Jaskier sob and gives Geralt glazy eyes.

When the credits roll, Geralt hands Jaskier another paper towel.

“ _What the fuck_ ,” Jaskier breaths hysterically, knees drawn up to his chest. “I’m never watching a sad movie ever again. Who even makes these, Geralt? What the _fuck_ _?_ ”

Geralt doesn’t answer, lost within whatever spiral the story sent him into. 

Some time after, they both clean up and go to bed without another word. 

  
  


**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

  
  


clandestine cynosure is a horrible name 

somewhere in the stories with the same tragic end,

is the beautifully heartbreaking way that history repeats itself.

there are lovers that die, mothers that lie, and sons that can never fill the void

but when all that’s left is nothing,

will any of it be worth loving?

— 

And then Jaskier wonders what _is_ worth loving. 

— 

i want 

you're staring beyond the red horizon

and i want your eyes, i want your eyes

i envy the dam that holds them tight

i want your eyes, i want your eyes

shoulders my mother would’ve praised me for

i want your arms, i want your arms

father wouldn’t have sent me so far

i want your arms, i want your arms

though passion is my strongest suit,

i want your mind, i want your mind

the secrets that, in it, you hide,

i want your mind, i want your mind

the final wish to thee i plead,

i want your heart, i want your heart,

its sullen music i long to hark

that pulls earth’s plates so far apart

o silver lord who fuels my art,

i want your heart, i want your heart.

❀❀❀

**\- August 18th -**

“Hey,” greets Geralt when he sees Jaskier leave his room for the first time all day. “You wanna watch another movie tonight? I don’t have work, and Yen is—”

“No. I, uh, really must get some rest. I think I’m coming down with something terribly sorry. Thank you for the kind offer.” It’s a weak excuse, but it’ll work.

“Okay,” Geralt says tentatively. “Do you need anything, or…?”

“Nope. I’ll be fine. Thanks.” And then Jaskier grabs a slice of leftover pizza from the kitchen, and disappears back into his room.

❀❀❀

**\- August 25th -**

Jaskier genuinely cannot remember the last time he’s had a conversation with Geralt, which, admittedly, is entirely his fault. It’s the best way to counteract this feeling though, right? It’s not right to be hanging out and spending time with Geralt — the man of his dreams who just so happens to be very much committed to a beautiful, terrifying woman — while putting up some facade of friendship. It would be deceitful, and he is a man of just moral integrity.

While pondering this at a local coffee shop, he gets a text.

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: Hey.

He responds to Geralt, but only because it’s the right thing to do.

**jaskier** : hi

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: Are you okay? You’ve been acting a little weird.

Jaskier cringes and takes a sip of his latte. 

**jaskier** : yeah sorry! i was sick for a minute and then got kinda sad. but i’m okay now

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: Sad? What happened?

Distantly, Jaskier realizes that was a stupid thing to tell him.

**jaskier** : it was nothing, i promise :)

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: I don’t believe that, but if you don’t wanna talk about it then that’s okay.

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: Have you eaten?

Jaskier looks at his half-empty cup. Good enough for him.

**jaskier** : yeah

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: Coffee doesn’t count. 

Damn, is he _really_ that predictable?

**jaskier** : then no

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: I’ll order you takeout. I’ll be gone till tomorrow 

afternoon bc Yen has a thing. That okay?

It would have to be.

**jaskier** : of course! have fun

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3 **: I will ;) 

Jaskier simultaneously winces, blushes, and wishes that he could drown himself in his latte.

❀❀❀

  
  


**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

a wise drunkard

the plates are full of the copious fruit 

that overflows when fermented into wine

words carved into the bottom of the glass

have no meaning now, not now or at all

like the ones on paper, i wrote, uncouth

but i pluck the string from the maiden’s lute

wrap the coil 'round my finger like twine

the promise as sweet as it is crass

far away, almost inaudibly, the petals fall

as i tip the chalice and swallow the Truth

**\- August 26th -**

Jaskier comes home mid-evening after having regrettably enjoyable hate-sex with Valdo Marx. Geralt is sitting on the couch, wearing a t-shirt, and watching a nature documentary — of course he is — when the door opens. He looks at Jaskier with some remarkable parody of pity and curiosity.

“You okay?” Geralt’s question reeks of artificiality and he’s laughing. The bastard _laughs_. Jaskier does not want to discuss this matter.

“Yep,” he says, and walks straight into his room.

**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

hate-fucking is one hell of a drug 

He only knows that I am His,

the searing lie He kisses down my back 

the glistening canvases pressing like iron

but i love it because if i am His, it means i cannot be Yours

i can’t bear the weight of the shackles when He’s chanting my name,

the siren’s call lures no one when He bites down on my skin

when He tears open the battle scars, feeds me His poison

and if i even think of You, i plead for Him once more

maybe sometime soon, He’ll destroy me enough

that i’ll be but shriveling pieces of pulsing flesh

and there will be nothing left to feel for You.


	3. three: where the caged bird lies

**Chapter Summary:** Geralt vaguely knows that the journal exists. Jaskier keeps making questionable decisions.

**Chapter Notes:** Jaskier wasn’t feeling so poetically inspired for this specific segment of time, but enjoy the short plot update. Also, Geralt likes waffles. 

❀❀❀ 

**\- August 29th -**

**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

it’s 3AM but alas 

It’s easy to find the fading swirls of color in the dark

I wonder if we become those swirls when we die,

If we begin to live half-done in the pitch-blackness

Spotting the eyes of the insomniac with lively dots and spirals

I wonder if we keep our names, or if we get new ones

I hope that my death is achingly submerged in black and endlessly dull

So that I may live in your darkness with every color you can imagine

So that you can rub your eyes and almost touch my blinding light

To say that, as I do in life now, I will love you with light and

—

Jaskier, with his pen still in his grasp, falls asleep before he can finish the line. 

As Geralt leaves for work that morning, he lightly presses open Jaskier’s door and sees the man — limbs curled around the edge of his bed — asleep, next to his open journal. Geralt’s brows furrow in confusion, but he leaves the room and gently closes the door behind him. 

❀❀❀ 

**\- September 2nd -**

As a good roommate does, Geralt lets Jaskier know whenever Yennefer is coming, at least a half-day in advance. It is Jaskier’s full intention to have completely left the apartment for the day by the time she arrives. The issue is that Jaskier is prone to forgetfulness, oftentimes at the expense of his emotional wellbeing.

“Jaskier,” Yennefer calls while he makes an attempt to gracefully tip-toe into the bathroom to hide-out, with his journal in hand. “It’s lovely seeing you again.”

Even from the full distance of the hallway, Yennefer is one of the most beautiful women that Jaskier has ever seen. Her waves are pristinley gracing her shoulders, covered entirely by her black turtleneck. 

Jaskier concedes and walks to the living room to greet her. “You as well, Yen! You look beautiful, as always.” He hugs her and she smells like black raspberry vanilla.

She raises a brow and smirks at him. “Hush. You flatter me more than Geralt does.” 

Jaskier pushes an absurd laugh out of his throat and flashes another smile. “We really do have to catch up sometime, Yennefer. Your voice is always delightful to hear in person.” Jaskier grabs his journal more firmly between his fingers and walks towards the door. “Farewell, you two!”

Geralt waves his hand at the same time Yennefer says, “Bye, Jaskier.”

  
  


**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

raven queen

coursing ocean, charging storm

she kisses with the evening fire

a raven queen we cower for

and dance to her swirling mist

softening ocean, calming storm

she whispers cooly down your throat

a raven queen we all adore

welcome the sword of her kiss 

❀❀❀

As a horrible roommate does, Geralt does _not_ tell Jaskier that Yennefer is still at their apartment when Jaskier comes back home that night. So Jaskier has to learn the hard way, unintentionally eavesdropping on one of the most passionate fuck-a-thons Jaskier has ever heard before. Thankfully, they’re in Geralt’s room, so he doesn’t see anything, but he has half a mind to go back outside and just wait till they're finished. But almost on queue, Jaskier gets a text.

**valdo (DO NOT ANSWER!)** : you up?

Jaskier gets ready to tell Valdo no, but then hears Yennefer laugh around a muffled kiss in Geralt’s room. 

**jaskier** : yeah

 **jaskier** : but if i come over, i’m sleeping there 

**valdo (DO NOT ANSWER!)** : of course ;) mi casa es tu casa

Jaskier rolls his eyes, leaves the apartment, and calls an Uber to Valdo’s place.

  
  


❀❀❀

**\- September 3rd -**

The next morning, Jaskier sneaks out of Valdo’s apartment before he wakes up — so as to avoid Valdo’s half-assed attempt at aftercare. When he gets back to his apartment, it seems quiet enough, and then he spots Geralt in the kitchen eating a waffle. 

“Hey,” Geralt says, waving his forkful of syrupy blueberry waffle. 

“Hey yourself.” Jaskier crosses his arms and — against his will — smiles. 

Geralt tilts his head, as if to ask why Jaskier is feigning agitation.

“We’re not freshmen anymore, Geralt,” he sighs, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Fuck whoever you want here, but give me a heads up first. Especially when you choose to make it such.. _public_ information, hm?” 

As Jaskier exits the kitchen and walks towards his room, Geralt just blushes and goes back to his waffle.

❀❀❀

Despite its inconvenience, Jaskier feels as though getting out of their apartment and furthering physical distance from Geralt would probably help him get over this affliction. Pointedly, he decides he’ll stay out of the apartment as much as possible.

He looks at his journal sitting beside him on his bed, and has a lovely idea.


	4. four: i get the best sleep when you're there

**Chapter Summary** : Jaskier shares some of his poems, and makes more questionable decisions.

**Chapter Notes** : Jaskier? In Geralt’s bed? It’s more likely than you think.

  
  


❀❀❀

**\- September 8th -**

Jaskier has gotten very mixed reactions for his poetry from his friends. 

He meets Triss, one of his first friends from freshman year, for a Chipotle date at the park. Having made sure it was okay with her beforehand, he reads the “silver beast” poem to her.

“Jaskier,” she says, with a sympathetic smile, “That’s heartbreaking, but beautiful. Are you okay?”

Jaskier only honestly responds to the compliment. “Thank you, darling. Um, no yeah, I’m fine, yeah.”

She reads him like a fucking book, and wraps her arms around him in a warm embrace. 

❀❀❀

**\- September 10th -**

Jaskier reads a couple of them to his theatre friends. It’s a bit difficult to get a gage of individual reactions, because they’re all wrapped up in each other on Istredd’s couch. Typical.

“I dunno,” says Essi, who’s playing with Pavetta’s hair as she leans on Fringilla. “Maybe you just need to get laid.”

❀❀❀

**\- September 13th -**

After some mediocre sex and a pretty large quantity of alcohol in his system, Jaskier hands Valdo the journal, pouring himself a glass of the most expensive wine in Valdo’s pantry as he calls himself an Uber home. 

Valdo flips through the pages with evident scrutiny, occasionally barking a surprised chuckle — which bothers Jaskier, since doesn’t recall writing anything funny. But then Valdo gets to one page in particular, and keeps his brow furrowed. Worried and curious, Jaskier sets his phone on a nightstand and crawls across the bed — glass in hand — to see what Valdo is reading. He sees the title, “hate-fucking is one hell of a drug”, and oh  _ shit _ , Jaskier completely forgot he’d written that one. 

After a few seconds, Valdo lets out a hearty laugh, closes the journal, and sets it beside Jaskier. He looks at Jaskier patronizingly, with his hand on his chin.

“So,” he remarks as his smile curls up, “You think of him, when we fuck?”

Jaskier exhales and takes another sip of his drink. “Mhm. Sorry.”

Valdo shakes his head in a laugh again, and then leans forward to Jaskier’s ear.  “ You’ve always been a pathetically love-sick puppy, Julian. You haven’t changed a bit.” Then he presses a disgustingly wet, sloppy kiss to Jaskier’s lips. The bed creaks with Valdo’s weight as he leaves it and goes into the bathroom.

Jaskier never fucks Valdo again afterwards.

❀❀❀

When Jaskier gets home, he’s only a little trashed, but he’s  _ fine _ . He’ll just have to avoid Geralt’s questioning gaze again, which is also fine, because it’s not like he had any shame about fucking Valdo— except, of course, the fact that he had been fucking  _ Valdo _ — but he’s a grown man, he doesn’t have to answer to anyone but himself.

Jaskier balances his stay-over bag, his charger, his phone, and his journal in his arms as he elbows-open the door to the apartment. Geralt’s not in the living room or kitchen, and he can’t hear anything from down the hallway of Geralt’s room. He checks his texts.

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3** : Hey, I’m at Yen’s tonight. Won't be home 

Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief. He saunters over to his room, drops his stuff on the floor, and collapses onto his bed. The sheets are cold, and too familiar, but all he wants to do is sleep. He squirms around the mattress and tries to wrap himself in the sheets. It’s uncomfortable, it’s wrong. He feels like Valdo’s hands are still on him. Undeserving hands, undeserving hands, he thinks. 

Jaskier has an idea. It’s a stupid, stupid idea, but he’s a little bit drunk and it’s not like Geralt will ever know. He’ll be at Yen’s till God knows what time. 

Jaskier hauls himself up from his bed, takes heavy-footed steps into Geralt’s bedroom — his bed is made neatly,  _ of course _ it is — and drops himself onto it. Fuck, it’s so comfortable. Are most beds this comfortable? Jaskier snow angels in the sheets for a few seconds and then wraps his arms around a grey pillow. He holds it like he would hold— a person, and drifts off to sleep.

❀❀❀

**\- September 14th -**

“What the fuck?” 

It’s the first thing Jaskier hears when he wakes up, mind still foggy from the lingering slumber-haze pulling at his consciousness. Geralt never wakes him up, why the hell is Geralt waking him up? Jaskier rolls his body over to sit up, but suddenly thinks he must be seeing things because this is  _ definitely _ not his pillow, nor his blanket for that matter. He blinks and looks around again, and honestly it’s all so strange because he doesn’t understand why— 

Oh. 

Oh no.

Jaskier looks towards wherever Geralt’s voice is coming from and sees a very,  _ very _ confused face staring at him.

“Geralt! I, um,  _ hi _ , good morning—” 

“It’s 12PM.” 

“Yeah, well…” Jaskier still hasn’t answered the question.

“Why the fuck are you in my bed?” Geralt asks. There’s a rasp to it that Jaskier’s not used to.

“Well I— I mean, I  _ do _ want to start off by apologizing because,  _ genuinely _ Geralt, I am so very sorry, it happened completely on accident, I’m sorry—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what happened.” 

Jaskier winces and then slightly adjusts himself on the bed. “I went…  _ out _ , last night. And drank a little bit, and then came home some time in the early morning, like 2-3ish? And I must've just, well, gotten confused? I don’t remember being that drunk, I was just really tired.”

Geralt rolls his tongue to the inside of his cheek in deliberation. “Where’d you go so late?”

Jaskier drops his head into his hands and groans. “Valdo’s.”

“You—” Geralt stops himself. “Valdo? Valdo  _ Marx _ ?” 

Jaskier nods. 

Geralt hums in understanding. “Not my business, but isn’t he a dick?” 

Jaskier runs a hand through his hair and laughs sadly. “Yes, in fact, he is.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Geralt figures out what could’ve made Jaskier do something like that, and Jaskier figures out how the hell he’s going to get himself out of this conversation. 

“Don’t worry about the bed thing. I don’t really care. Just give me a heads up next time, okay?”

Jaskier looks up, smiling faintly as Geralt’s subtle mimicry. Jaskier nods. 

Geralt puts his phone down on his dresser, grabs the towel hung on the door, and walks to the bathroom, leaving Jaskier to sit on the bed alone.

❀❀❀

Eventually, Jaskier makes his way back to his own room and picks up his journal from the floor. He thumbs over to the page with the “hate-fucking” poem, and walks over to his desk to find a pen. 

**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

~~ hate-fucking is one hell of a drug ~~

~~ He’s only known that i was His, ~~

~~ the searing lie He kisses down my back  ~~

~~ the glistening canvases pressing down like iron ~~

~~ but i love it because if i am His, it means i cannot be Yours ~~

~~ i can’t bear the weight of the shackles when He’s chanting my name, ~~

~~ the siren’s call lures no one when He bites down on my skin ~~

~~ when He tears open the battle scars, feeds me His poison ~~

~~ and if i even think of You, i plead for Him once more ~~

~~ maybe sometime soon, He’ll destroy me enough ~~

~~ that i’ll be but shriveling pieces of pulsing flesh ~~

~~ and there will be nothing left to feel for You. ~~

hate-fucking is absolutely horrendous, and can never ever end well

he thought that I was only his,

or that I was his at all,

the memory has a sour tint, a tinging vinyl edge

and I hate it because I’m not his, I was always Yours

I’ll welcome my sentence, I’ll swallow it whole

Your song dances between the canals with timeless ease

by the wit of a mage, my open wounds are sealed

regardless of his scrutiny, I plead for You once more

though I may be destroyed, just a clump of old shambles

and I am but shriveling pieces of pulsing flesh

all of me will always feel for You. 

words are quiet in a book

since in the daylight, i cannot say it

i whisper it into my pages

“i love him, and it never stops”

perhaps in text, it can be quiet,

can rouse no hope, can cause no violence

oblige me once, just let me try it

“i love him, and he loves me not”

  
  


why the fuck did i sleep in his bed

it was grass, it was a flower bed, it was flower petals

it was friendly ants and grasshoppers acting as a blanket

and the dampness of the air acting as a lifeline

it was sleeping in a forest, it was earthy, it was dirty,

it was grime inside my fingernails and teeth inside my calves

and the symphony of crickets played me softly into sleep 

i think about the empty pillow, the dent in the mattress, and weep


	5. five: a rose on its ladder of thorn

**Chapter Summary** : Trouble in paradise. Jaskier is still in love. Geralt has questions.

**Chapter Notes** : Hair braiding is one of my favorite things, don’t come for me. 

❀❀❀

**\- September 17th -**

Jaskier figures that getting out of the apartment is still one of the best ways to counter this feeling, but maybe _sex_ wasn’t the best option. He decided to start holding some music tutoring sessions on campus. 

Honestly? It’s pretty gratifying, and Jaskier has a lot of fun doing it. Specifically, one of his youngest prodigies, Dara, has sped through an entire month’s worth of guitar training in two weeks! Jaskier feels like a proud mother.

On the other hand, Jaskier gets home at around eight-nine o’clock every evening, and notices that Geralt seems to go through a gradual mood shift. He’s not entirely sure what that’s about. After the first few nights, Jaskier has to _really_ fight the urge to ask Geralt what’s going on — but he figures it’s not his place whatsoever, so it’s for the best...

❀❀❀  
  


**\- September 25th -**

...Until he happens to overhear the tail-end of a conversation in the living room when Yen comes over:

“You are un-fucking-believable, Geralt,” he hears Yennefer say, and the distant clanging of her keys and purse.

“Yennefer, this was supposed to be a step _forward_ for us,” says Geralt, walking after her.

“When you openly refuse my wants? When you make a decision like this without even consulting me first? When is the last time we’ve even had a _conversation_ about marriage, Geralt?” Yennefer’s tone is drenched with anger and frustration and her heeled-boots are stomping against the floor. 

Geralt is silent before he quietly adds, “I understand wanting to be loved, Yen, but _children_ _?_ Children were never in the plan.”

Yennefer huffs, and her keys jangle again. “Maybe they weren’t in _your_ plan,” she says, and it’s not bitter, it’s not calculated. “I’ll always love you and be there for you Geralt, but… I don’t think our futures lie with each other. I can’t imagine either of us being happy that way.” 

The front door closes.

❀❀❀

The silence lasts for at least an hour, but it’s interrupted when Geralt knocks on Jaskier’s door. Jaskier quickly dashes from his position at the edge of his bed and grabs his headphones so it doesn’t look like he heard anything.

“Come in,” says Jaskier after five seconds.

The door opens and Geralt enters, leaning his back against the adjacent wall. Jaskier takes out a headphone to sell the part.

“Hypothetically,” begins Geralt, who is fiddling with a velvet box in his hand. “How would you handle someone breaking up with you after you proposed to them?”

“Liquor,” says Jaskier before he can stop himself. “I mean— well yeah, liquor probably, but also lot’s of sad music and ice cream and self-pity—” He takes out the other earbud. “—Why?” 

Geralt walks somberly to the edge of Jaskier’s bed and waves the velvet box. “Take a guess.”

Jaskier’s heart aches. He crawls over to the bottom of his bed and pats the spot next to him. “Come sit with me.”

The mattress dips under Geralt’s weight as he sits. Jaskier offers a consolatory pat on his back.

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

Geralt slides his fingers along the box, almost as if he wants to memorize the texture of every detail. “Not really.”

Jaskier purses his lips in deep thought. He wants to help but he’s not sure how. “What can I do to cheer you up?”

Geralt shrugs and folds has hands between his legs.

Jaskier turns towards him cautiously. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

❀❀❀

Jaskier puts on Kingsman: The Secret Service, which is one of the few movies they both genuinely enjoy. Jaskier also prepares some waffles for Geralt and a bowl of ice cream just in case, and pours two glasses of the only drink they have in the apartment — Stella Rosa Black, courtesy of Jaskier.

Jaskier miraculously balances everything in his hands in one trip, and sets it all down on the table gracelessly. Then, he plops himself down on the couch, on the opposite end Geralt is on. As anticipated, Geralt immediately reaches for a waffle and a napkin, takes a bite, and says a muffled “thanks”. Jaskier just smiles at him and reaches for his glass. 

❀❀❀

After they’re about forty minutes into the movie, Jaskier and Geralt are so fucking giggly that it’s not even funny. Completely disregarding Eggsy’s on-screen objective, Jaskier steals a bite of one of Geralt’s waffles. 

“What the— _Asshole_!” Geralt accuses with a blinding grin.

And, like a liar, Jaskier says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” around a mouthful of waffle.

At the ridiculous sight, Geralt starts wheeze-laughing incomprehensibly, grabbing at his chest and turning away his head. Jaskier tries not to choke on the food he’s chewing on as he joins in on the laughter, covering his mouth to keep himself from dying. 

It’s all messy and chaotic and a little bit unprecedented for them, but it’s also one of the things Jaskier loves most about their friendship. Moments just like these, where they could be unapologetically idiotic and just enjoy each other’s company. And Geralt _laughing_ like this? Jaskier would endure any and all heartbreak to make Geralt laugh like this forever. Jaskier knows what heartache feels like, and he remembers how Geralt made him smile for the first time in days after he and Valdo had ended things. This least Jaskier could do was make Geralt laugh.

Jaskier’s chortling begins to die down, as he watches Geralt steady himself into a contented grin. It’s the only sight that could warm his heart in such a way. 

Geralt catches his breath and tries to run his hand through his hair, forgetting that he’d tied his hair into a bun behind his head. He winces as he pulls the hair tie out of his hair, and Jaskier watches the whole process with vicarious follicle pain.

“Geralt.” He watches Geralt’s hands still within his silver strands. 

Geralt eyes him with curious suspicion. “What?”

Jaskier rests his elbow on his leg and props his chin on his hand. “Do you remember that one time in freshman year you let me braid your hair?” 

Geralt’s nose scrunches — which is painfully adorable. “Yeah, why?”

Jaskier clasps his hands in a praying gesture. “ _Please_ let me braid your hair again.”

Geralt deadpans, roughly untangling his knots with his fingers. “No.”

Jaskier gets on the floor by the couch and crawls to Geralt’s feet. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease, I cannot watch you continue to berate your hair like this.”

“Then close your eyes.”

“Geraaaaaalt—”

“Fine, fuck,” Geralt breathes with a chuckle, dropping his arms and letting his hair fall messily. 

Jaskier scrambles to his feet and runs to the bathroom to find a comb. He comes back and Geralt is sitting on the floor by the couch. Quickly but carefully, Jaskier settles on the couch, resting both legs on either side of Geralt's head.

“If your dick pokes my head even once, I’m moving out,” says Geralt. Taken completely off guard, Jaskier barks a surprised laugh and playfully taps Geralt’s head.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Geralt. There will be no prick-poking today.”

Geralt breathes a laugh from his nose and focuses back on the movie as Jaskier parts his hair down the middle.

Jaskier carefully starts detangling the ends first, finding satisfaction in the way the comb spreads Geralt’s hair in even strands. Jaskier wants to get lost in the sea of silver before him, and he combs it into oblivion. He chalks a poem into his head as he goes.

Geralt leans his head against Jaskier’s thigh. “Can I ask you something, Jas?” 

Jaskier tries not to sob at the question and the touch. “Anything, Geralt.”

“Why Valdo?”

Jaskier pulls his lips tight and fights the fire in his chest. It’s a very packed question. Geralt didn’t even ask it when Jaskier _had_ been exclusive with Valdo. Jaskier has to sift through memories, good and bad, to properly provide Geralt with an answer.

Jaskier begins braiding the left side of Geralt’s hair as he responds. “I didn’t know he was a dick at first. That’s usually how they get you.” To which Geralt chuckles. “But honestly, um… he was nice and gentle when I needed someone to be nice and gentle to me. He was artistically inclined so he was super open to my ideas and projects… He made me feel valued, at least while that lasted.”

Geralt sits in thought for a moment. The flashing flickers from the movie illuminate his face in various color patterns. Jaskier wants to love him in light.

“But after everything, why’d you go back?”

Jaskier sighs, and resigns himself to being only half-truthful. “Well, firstly, that was a mistake that I am _definitely_ not proud of—” he pushes Geralt’s head down so he can finish the braid, “—but, basically, I was trying to get over something, and I needed a distraction. He offered himself as a distraction and I…” Jaskier starts to realize how shitty that sounds and trails off.

“Why wouldn’t you let me help?” Geralt asks the question in a way that seeps with self-deprecation. It’s almost as if he’s blaming himself for something he can’t control.

“I didn’t want to bother you, and plus you had your own things you were busy with—”

“Never too busy for you.” Geralt nuzzles his head into Jaskier’s leg and yawns. 

Jaskier wants to fucking cry at this beautiful mess of a man who doesn’t even know how badly Jaskier is aching for him. He wants to tell him, _needs_ to tell him. But when Jaskier, with hands still tangled in Geralt's hair, looks over at his face, Geralt is asleep. His eyes are shut and his lips are parted softly, breaths rolling out evenly between them.

Jaskier swallows his words and continues to comb Geralt’s hair while he sleeps. 

❀❀❀

**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

i want (again) 

i know it hurts, i know you’re burning

but i want your eyes, your sleeping eyes

i want the way they rest tonight,

my god, i love your sleeping eyes

and if i could, i promise you

i want your heart, i’d take your heart

i’d withstand it twice, and bleed the mark

i want the aching of your heart

i’d curse the ocean and hex the sky

just for your love, i want your love

for just a minute, or just a second of

your love, my dear, i want your love

i know it hurts, i know that feeling,

i want your eyes, in sleep they lie 

i’ll save you from it all tonight

while i watch the gleam of your sleeping eyes

  
  


in a dream 

i felt you dream between my thighs,

i felt you mourn the kiss you lost

the autumn yellows and orange from her smile corrupted my bones

as if the hands were mine, i felt you touch her, and tell her she had you

and she knew that in the dream, too

and she kissed the goodbye between your teeth,

as i saw your tears within your dream

silver sea 

what a lovely death it’d be

to drown within the silver sea!

to lose my hands in silver strands

and sway my hips in silver dance,

to kiss and mouth at silver lips,

and raise the sails on silver ships

to make sweet love on silver bed

and hate myself in silver dread,

to throw myself over silver rails,

and fall among the silver scales

to swallow down the silver tears,

and die for many silver years

to find a home on the silver floor,

and live in silver evermore

what a perfect death it is, indeed

drowning in your silver sea.


	6. six: it cannot be a lie if no one hears

**Chapter Summary** : Jaskier and Geralt learn a lot about each other. Geralt sees a brown leather thing on Jaskier's bed while he's gone. What ever could that be?

**Chapter Notes** : Really quickly, I want to sincerely thank those of you who comment. You guys has been one of the only things motivating me to finish this fic, lol. I appreciate you <3 Also... fair warning, Geralt is a bit clueless. But I love him. Brace yourselves.

❀❀❀

**\- September 27th -**

When Jaskier tells Essi about Geralt’s break-up, her reaction is just as appropriate as Jaskier should've anticipated.

“So, if I’m hearing you correctly,” she says after taking a sip of her mango-peach drink, “Getting laid is totally an option now?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and presses his forehead to his palm. “I don’t even know why I bother with you at this point.”

Essi shrugs and nudges him with her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Jaskier makes no further comment.

❀❀❀

**\- September 28th -**

  
  


To Jaskier’s hidden demise, he and Geralt spend a lot more time together over the next few weeks. Since Geralt doesn’t spend time with Yen anymore, and clearly needs someone to distract him from that, Jaskier shortens his mentoring hours and hangs out with Geralt. Constantly.

It’s a bit of a blessing and a curse. On one hand, Jaskier and Geralt’s friendship gets so much stronger as they learn more about each other— well, more than they’ve learned in the several years of friendship they’ve already shared. But on the other, Jaskier is fighting really _really_ hard against his own emotions. 

The horrible thing about fighting with oneself is that you're always bound to lose.

❀❀❀

**\- September 30th -**

“Geralt, I _promise_ you. I’ve worn earrings around you before,” Jaskier insists, crunching a crouton from his Panera salad between his teeth. 

“No, Jas. I would’ve remembered that.” Geralt’s chicken sandwich is left forgotten on the table as he eyes Jaskier’s ears.

Jaskier flails his arms around to accentuate his very valid argument. “I wear seasonal earrings every Christmas, G! I’ve literally asked you to help me pick between them before. How is this news to you?”

Jaskier can see Geralt visibly fight with his memory as his stern features twist. He settles into an expression of acceptance.

“I might remember one of them, I think,” he says, “Like a wreath or something?”

Jaskier internalizes this victory. “Yes, Geralt, _yes_. I have little wreath earrings. Good job, good boy.”

Jaskier doesn’t realize he says that last part until it leaves his mouth, and he tries to hide his blush of embarrassment behind his iced tea.

❀❀❀

**\- November 3 -**

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says, because he absolutely _must_ be hearing things, “Did you say you were in a _band_?”

Geralt shrugs like he didn’t just say the most monumental thing about his life ever. “Yeah, I was in highschool. My brothers and I did this little thing, I played bass.”

“ _You—_ ” Jaskier has to bite his tongue to keep himself from screaming. “And you _never_ thought to tell me?”

Geralt bites open another pistachio. “Didn’t think it was important.”

Jaskier runs both his hands through his hair. “I _cannot_ believe you, you secretly cultured man.”

❀❀❀

**\- November 9th -**

Jaskier and Geralt take two canvases and a bunch of old paints from Jaskier’s closet and go to the park. They underestimate how many ants and bugs crawl all over them, but neither of them really seem to mind.

Jaskier paints an ocean. Geralt paints a big grey storm and a bunch of small, black paint-slews of birds flying into a sun on fire. 

Figures.

❀❀❀

**\- November 15th -**

  
  


After a bit of begging, Geralt lets Jaskier do his eyeliner in their bathroom.

“Wow,” says Jaskier, “You look like a fucking god. Seriously, Geralt, what the hell.”

Geralt smiles wearily before putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and saying, “Glad you admire my face. Now get this shit off.”

❀❀❀

**\- November 19th -**

Jaskier and Geralt a bit wine drunk on the couch, listening to shuffle play of the Beatles on Spotify when Geralt decides to finally talk about it. 

“She wanted kids,” Geralt says, like it makes sense in the context of Hey Jude.

Jaskier gets it almost immediately, though. “And you didn’t?” He turns towards Geralt, who’s staring up at their popcorn ceiling — which is horrendous, but that’s besides the point.

“Yeah, I didn’t. And I thought that made sense?” Geralt says, but it curves out of the form of a statement.

Jaskier nods. “It _can_. Some people don’t want kids, for good reason. Some do, also for good reason. Some people change their minds. That’s okay, too.”

Geralt's eyes haze like he’s lost in a memory. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be brought into the world, if I had a choice,” he adds quietly.

Jaskier’s chest thrums and he bites hard on his bottom lip to feel the hurt of it. If Geralt is hurting, maybe it’ll help to hurt with him. “Me neither, probably. But… I’m glad you’re here Geralt. And other people are, too.”

Geralt turns away, burying his head between the sofa cushions. “Everyone leaves,” he says muffledly, “ _You’ll_ leave.”

Jaskier can’t imagine how Geralt could possibly think that. If he _knew_ . “Geralt,” he soothes, grabbing Geralt’s foot, “I moderately work out and eat seasoned grass because I want to live forever. I want to live forever because there is no universe that exists in which I would even think of leaving you. You’re stuck with me, and it’s important to me that you know that. You’re like…” Jaskier tries to pull an appropriate analogy out of his ass, “You’re like _cheese_ , and I’m bread. And we’re a grilled cheese sandwich.” Very insightful, Jaskier.

Geralt snorts. “How poetic.”

Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s big toe. “Shut up, you beetle-headed _ass_. I’m trying to console you with the truth.”

Geralt pauses for a moment, then abruptly sits up and pulls Jaskier into a full embrace. It all happens so fast that Jaskier barely registers it, basking in the desperate grip of Geralt’s arms. Jaskier wraps his arms under Geralt’s grip and rubs small circles on his back.

❀❀❀

**\- November 23rd -**

Jaskier gets invited to some super rare retreat with some of his theatre friends. As much as he was endlessly excited for the prospect of cooking cup ramen and oven-wings with Geralt this year, the opportunity is too good to pass up. Geralt pretends not to be disappointed, which is very noble of him.

At the last hour, Jaskier scrambles to pack all his things. “Shit shit shit, Geralt, I don’t know which shirts to pack, I’m having a _crisis_.”

Geralt, who’s leaning on the doorway of Jaskier’s bedroom, kindly suggests, “Just pack them all.”

Jaskier rummages and pulls apart another drawer. “That’s not an option.”

“Sucks,” Geralt says indifferently.

Jaskier throws a sock at him. 

“Scuse me, what I _meant_ to say was, ‘Oh, Jaskier! That’s so tragic. How may I be of assistance to you in these trying times, my liege?’.” — which is not only the longest sentence Jaskier has ever heard Geralt say, but also the most absurd.

Jaskier glares at Geralt and wants to laugh _so_ badly, but priorities.  
  


“You’re unbelievable, my _silver_ _lord_ ,” Jaskier says as inside-joke with himself, and throws a shirt at Geralt.

Geralt catches it, smirks shamelessly, and walks back to his room.

❀❀❀

Jaskier scrambles out the door at the very last minute, and wishes Geralt a very frantic goodbye. 

“I’ll be back soon!” Jaskier waves his hand out of Essi’s car window.

“Don’t hurry back, I need to get laid.” Geralt adds, and Essi has to hide her laugh around her hand. 

Jaskier flicks him off as the car drives away.

❀❀❀

When Geralt gets back upstairs, the apartment feels so much emptier. He walks down the hall and stops at Jaskier’s door, which is wide-fucking-open. His clothes and drawers are scattered all over the floor and Geralt cringes at the sight. 

He _did_ promise Jaskier that he would do his laundry for him while he was gone, so maybe it would be okay if he took Jaskier’s hamper from his room and put some of his clothes away for him. After all, Geralt doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep knowing Jaskier’s room is in such disarray. 

He won’t mess with too much. He’ll just put some of the shirts back and take the hamper and that’ll be all. 

But then Geralt notices a small brown leather thing poking out of Jaskier’s blanket. He’ll just put it back on Jaskier’s desk or nightstand or something, that’s fine.

When he walks over and grabs it, he notices that it’s actually a journal, which is interesting. Maybe Jaskier has written something about what he was going through, and what made him do the whole Valdo thing again. Jaskier has been nothing but kind and understanding to Geralt with everything that happened with Yennefer, it’s only right for Geralt to do the same.

So, Geralt sits down on the edge of Jaskier’s bed and opens the journal.

Oh. These look like poems. Geralt’s never been good at interpreting those, but he can definitely try.

He reads the one titled “maybe if i write it, it’ll stop being true”. Of course Jaskier would be this ambiguous. He picks up some metaphor about summer and winter and kissing and death, which all sounds very Jaskier-like, but still doesn’t give Geralt any insight. 

Then he reads a poem about a beast and a knight. Okay, so two people are fighting, but one of them loves some unnamed “silver lord”, and then dies? But the beast is revealed as the silver lord. It feels as though some commentary on self-destruction might be in there, but Geralt can’t quite place it so he moves on. But he distantly recalls Jaskier calling him “silver lord” earlier today, but that must be a reference to something else. He’ll look it up later. 

Though he doesn’t understand much about the underlying meanings so far, Geralt must admit that Jaskier’s writing is pretty fucking brilliant. He has a way with words. 

And then Geralt gets to the poem with “clandestine cynosure” in the title, which probably has something to do with the way Jaskier cried at the movie. The poem ends with a question about what will be worth loving, and Geralt thinks Jaskier will always be worth loving. Who wouldn’t love Jaskier?

Then, right after it is a poem called “i want”. Jaskier keeps elaborately but evasively pining after some unnamed person— and then he calls them “silver lord” again. Which is weird. Geralt takes out his phone and googles “silver lord” but can’t find anything but some Lord of the Rings stuff and Jaskier hasn’t seen any of the movies. But there’s no way… There’s no way, right?

Geralt keeps reading.

He reads about “swallowing the truth”, and then a scratched out poem about how Jaskier used hate-sex to subsitute for someone he couldn’t have, and then about “loving someone with light”, and then about a raven queen— 

Geralt clasps his hand over his mouth and becomes nauseatingly dizzy.

Geralt reads about Jaskier realizing that hate-sex doesn’t work and submitting to loving this person, and then about loving someone who doesn’t love him back, and then “why the fuck did i sleep in his bed” — fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he shouldn't be reading this, but he’s already in this deep. Then he reads about Jaskier wanting this person again, and wanting their heartache and pain, and someone dreaming between his thighs — Geralt remembers that he fell asleep on Jaskier’s leg — and then, fuck, Jaskier wants to drown in silver.

Geralt sets the journal down and buries his face between his hands, in disbelief that he’s been oblivious to Jaskier’s feelings for so long. How fucking long has Jaskier been writing this thing? Fuck. 

Geralt takes a couple deep breaths to steady himself, but how can anyone be steady after being loved so quietly? 

He picks up the journal again and reads through every poem over and over again, imagining that every word is meant for him to hear. He imagines hearing every word in Jaskier’s unmistakable voice, in his gentle cadence.

Geralt reads the poems until he believes that he can be loved so passionately. 

Then Geralt reads the poems again until he believes that Jaskier could mean it.


	7. seven: surrender to the strings

**Chapter Summary** : Jaskier realizes that something is wrong. How are they going to deal with this? (A final conclusion.)

**Chapter Notes** : Well, lads, here we are. I hope you guys enjoy this finale. And quick shout out to SummerFrost for being a huge inspiration to me as I wrote this! Their fics are amazing. 

Anyway, here we go:

❀❀❀

**\- November 28th -**

Jaskier comes back a couple days later, having had a ridiculous amount of fun with his friends, but also very excited to see Geralt again. 

Essi drops Jaskier off, and Jaskier practically runs up the stairs to his door to see Geralt again.

He hums his whole way up — honestly, he feels a lot more elated about this occasion than he cares to admit. He takes his key out of his pocket and unlocks the door.

“Geraaaaalt,” he calls into the abyss of the apartment. He sets his bag on the floor by the dining room table and goes looking for Geralt.

The couch is empty. The bathroom is also empty. Jaskier knocks on Geralt’s door, no response. The hell?

Jaskier figures that Geralt’s probably at work, so sends him a text.

**jaskier** : hey g! i just got home. you at work?

 **roommate aka pain in the ass <3** : Yeah, sorry. 

Jaskier pulls his luggage into the hallway and then texts back.

**jaskier** : no worries!! did u get laid while i was gone?

**roommate aka pain in the ass <3** : No

Jaskier pouts at Geralt’s brevity, which was usually normal for him but it seems like something strange is afoot. Maybe something’s bothering him. They’ll probably talk about it later.

**jaskier** : well that's a shame. movie later?

**roommate aka pain in the ass:** Maybe.

Jaskier gives up on trying to analyze Geralt’s mood via text. He pushes open the door to his room and everything seems normal except— 

He freezes.

His journal is on the edge of his bed, which is definitely not where he left it, right?

No, he vividly remembers leaving it under his blanket. So why is it… 

Jaskier throat tightens and something in his chest starts to sting. There’s _absolutely_ no way. Maybe Geralt just moved it on accident, he would never actually go in and read it. Geralt wasn’t like that.

But he needs to be sure.

**jaskier** : geralt

 **jaskier** : did you go in my room?

Jaskier waits for a response and the stinging gradually heightens. Geralt reads the message, starts typing, then stops. He doesn't answer for several minutes. 

_Fuck_.

Jaskier drops to the floor and frantically reads through the pages. Jaskier never mentioned anything about Geralt’s name in the book, so it’s possible to deny everything if he could just—

He sees the “silver lord” poem and remembers that he jokingly called Geralt that the day before he left. Fuck. _Shit_. He’s so fucking stupid.

The air in his lungs is on fire and his hands are on fire and he feels a mix of every single human emotion in existence. He’s euphoric that he accidentally might have confessed his love to Geralt, he feels embarrassed and ashamed for the same reason, he feels sick, he feels angry that Geralt would dare to invade his privacy like that, he feels angry with himself for loving him at all. He’s burning and flaming with it all and he isn’t sure how to cool down. He’s the candle left on and left alone. He wants to set fire to the journal, he never wants to taste the words again. He’s so fucking _stupid_.

Jaskier, the burning flame, pulls his knees to his chest and cries.

  
  


❀❀❀

Jaskier finds himself staring up at the ceiling in his bed when the front door opens. 

The stinging and burning comes back tenfold and quickly. Jaskier runs to his bedroom door and locks it. He presses his palm on the door, it’s cooler than his skin and it reminds him to feel.

Geralt’s footsteps course slowly out of the living room and into the hallway. Jaskier hears him walk down the hallway, but he stops right in front of Jaskier’s bedroom door. He’s so close that Jaskier can hear him breathing through the door. Jaskier can almost _touch_ him.

Jaskier prays that he doesn’t knock, because he’s not cool enough to open the door yet. His breath is still catching in his scorching lungs.

Geralt walks away from the door and into his room.

Jaskier presses his forehead to the door and exhales.

❀❀❀

**\- December 3rd -**

Jaskier goes back to avoiding Geralt, except now he has much more pressing reasons for doing so. 

Jaskier spends most of his days at mentoring, or in the coffee shop, or with some other friends, or just _out_. He breathes only slightly better.

When he does go home, he goes straight to his room until Geralt is in the shower or has gone to work. While not talking to him hurts more, it’s better than facing the truth.

Jaskier hasn’t touched his journal since the incident. It doesn’t feel right to. 

So instead, he lies in bed each night with the heavy marbles and millions of words spinning around in his head.

  
  


❀❀❀

**\- December 10th -**

Jaskier and Geralt usually had this tradition, starting the tenth of December, to start a pre-Christmas daily gift exchange. They’d start with small things like Pop Tarts or hair products, but as the days advanced they’d invest in bigger gifts.

The only issue is that they’re still not speaking. So when Jaskier goes to the mall that day, he sees a small bass-guitar keychain and buys it. But he isn’t quite sure if he should even give it to Geralt.

Surely they can’t live like this forever, right?

Maybe they just wouldn’t spend Christmas together this year. Geralt could go visit his brothers and Jaskier could visit— 

Actually, Jaskier will be fine staying at the apartment alone this year. He doesn’t even really celebrate it, anyway. He much prefers the gift-giving and quality time part of the season.

That afternoon, Jaskier opens the front door, shopping bag in hand, and slides into his bedroom— closing and locking the door behind him. Jaskier tosses the bag on the bed and gets ready to pop in his headphones to listen to music, but he notices a small red gift box on his bed.

He furrows his brows and cautiously walks over to the box, looking around him as if expecting this to be some kind of trap. He rolls his teeth over his tongue speculatively and takes the box in his hand, shaking it and hearing a small clanking. Now he’s _really_ curious.

He opens the box, removes a small cotton covering, and—

A pair of silver sword earrings, gleaming in the lamplight illuminating Jaskier’s room.

His heart swells and he covers his hand with his mouth to conceal a hysterical gasp.

He takes one of the earrings between his fingers, running his finger across the “blade”, trying to memorize the texture in his finger print. Reaching for the other earring in the box, Jaskier almost misses the folded note at the bottom. He swallows down the heat rising in his throat and pulls out the note, unraveling it tentatively.

_Dear Jaskier,_

_Enjoy this pair of silver swords to start off pre-Xmas this year._

_I’m sorry I invaded your privacy._

_Please talk to me._

_**\- Your Silver Lord** _

  
  


Jaskier caresses the last three words on the page like they’re the only ones that have ever existed. Fiery tears burn in his eyes and spread onto his face, and he laughs for the first time in weeks. 

  
  


❀❀❀

When Geralt comes home that night, Jaskier doesn’t hide out at the coffee shop. He doesn’t even hide out in his room. 

He’s sitting on the couch with a cup of spiked eggnog, sword earrings worn proudly on both his ears, journal resting on the table before him.

Geralt freezes at the door when he sees Jaskier, but he slowly slides his keys back in his pocket and takes off his coat.

“Jaskier…?” he says hesitantly, softly, almost as if Jaskier is a ghost.

Jaskier sets down his drink. “Hello, Geralt.”

Geralt swallows hard and suddenly becomes very invested in the texture of his coat, fiddling with it as he continues. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Jaskier knows Geralt would’ve never done anything to be malicious or harm him, his apology is immediately accepted before he even has to give it. “It’s okay, Geralt. Honestly,” Jaskier says, looking down at his hands, “Do you wanna… _talk_ , maybe?”

Geralt clenches and unclenches his jaw rapidly but then looks back up at Jaskier with a thoughtful expression. “Yeah.”

Jaskier starts to feel the burning less. He slides to one end of the couch to give Geralt plenty of space as he joins him. Geralt puts his coat on the floor.

Geralt stares straight ahead and Jaskier watches his every shift and breath as though he might disappear. 

“Thank you, by the way,” Jaskier says, “For the, uh- for the earrings. They’re nice.”

Geralt hums affirmatively. Jaskier clears his throat.

“I got you something, too. For pre-christmas. Can I see your hand?” 

Geralt looks at him curiously, but slowly extends his hand and nods.

Jaskier breaths out and carefully puts the keychain in Geralt’s hand, trying not to revel in the touch— 

Geralt abruptly wraps his thumb and middle finger around Jaskier’s hand, his other fingers - shivering - slowly joining the gentle grip. Jaskier’s hands buzz with electricity and he sighs, “Geralt…”

Geralt slowly turns their hands together until Jaskier’s is at the bottom, the keychain back in his palms, and slides his hand under Jaskier’s. The keychain glistens in the light, and a small smile creeps on Geralt’s face as he admires it.

“Do you like it?”

Geralt shakes his head in disbelief and breathes a chuckle, “Yes, Jas. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

Jaskier shrugs. “Some things are worth remembering, I guess.”

Geralt looks up from the keychain at Jaskier and his eyes fall on the earrings. He lets go of Jaskier’s hand and leans forward to softly reach for his earlobe, his thumb tracing up Jaskier’s jawline before resting on the piercing.

“You’re wearing them,” he observes.

Jaskier watches Geralt’s eyes and ignores how cold the touch is. “I am.”

Geralt smiles and playfully pulls on the blade, making Jaskier laugh. They’re breathing so closely that Jaskier can feel the distant puff of Geralt’s exhale on his cheek.

Geralt’s eyes move from the earrings to Jaskier’s eyes. The gaze is full of a thousand whirling colors.

“The poems,” Geralt says delicately, like the words will break in his mouth, “Were they about me?”

Jaskier shuts his eyes and nods slowly.

Geralt bites the inside of his cheek and continues, “Do you _love_ me, Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s eyes start burning again when he reopens them. His smile quivers. “Yes, Geralt,” he says, “But you don’t have to love me back.”

Geralt sighs and looks back down, pulling his hand away from Jaskier’s face. Jaskier fights with his heart for self-control.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to love someone, like the way I did Yen,” he rasps. “But I’ve cared about you since we became friends and—” Geralt swallows the rest of his rambling, “I think I’d like to try. To love you that way.”

Jaskier cheek is hot and wet and he thinks he might be dying and living at the same time. There is fire and ocean and it all bleeds into purple inside of him.

Jaskier sets the keychain on the space between them and presses both of his palms to Geralt’s cheek, warm to the touch and stubbly. Geralt meets Jaskier’s teary gaze.

“As long as you’re here, Geralt,” he says, voice breaking, “I’ll love you in every way. You’ve already done so much, you just can’t see it.”

Geralt nestles into Jaskiers palm. “I want to do more. I want that. I want—” his jaw unclenches, “I want to give you everything _you_ want. My eyes, my lips, whatever you…” 

Jaskier can't see anything because it’s all flooding in his vision and all he hears is purple, and Geralt is honey in his hands, and liquor on his tongue, and he _wants_ . And Geralt is sitting here, ready to _give_.

Jaskier rests his forehead on Geralt’s and breathes in time with him. The question seeps from between his yearning lips before he can stop it: “Can I kiss you?”

Geralt inhales sharply. He grabs the collar of Jaskier’s shirt and pulls him forward.

Their mouths meld messily, lips bending in unsynchronized patterns, yellow and orange and blue curving along their tongues, winter melting into summer sand, the ghost of a forgotten kiss getting lost between their teeth. 

Jaskier crawls with his knees closer to Geralt until he’s on his lap, torsos touching, and heat and frost and heat and frost. All the seasons are revolving, and Geralt’s lips are so soft, and Jaskier is silently sobbing into his mouth.

Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier’s lower back, pulling him closer and closer. He wants to disappear inside all the love Jaskier gives. He doesn’t want to come up for air.

After what seems like an endlessly cavalry of kissing, Jaskier pulls away and rests his forehead against Geralt’s. They breathe air into each other’s lungs. 

“You know,” says Jaskier breathlessly, “Valdo _really_ hated one of them. The poems.”

“Yeah?” Geralt grins, pulling away slightly, “Which one?”

“The one about hate-fucking.” 

Geralt laughs gently and presses a line of kisses down Jaskier’s cheek. “What’d he say?”

The memory is so far gone that Jaskier hardly remembers. His breath hitches as Geralt kisses down his neck. “He said— ah, he said that I was a pathetic, love-sick puppy.”

Geralt nips at Jaskier’s throat, then pulls off. He frowns indifferently. “Yeah, a little bit.”

Jaskier gasps and his expression twists into pure disbelief. “How _completely and utterly—_ I cannot _believe—_ ”

Geralt laughs in satisfaction and cuts him off with a tender kiss, kissing him into silence and screams a thousand times over. Jaskier submits to it, because there’s truly nothing he’s ever wanted to do _more_.

❀❀❀

**Jaskier’s Poetry Journal:**

holy fucking hell 

you taste like the first day i started writing

you taste like the freedom of words on a page

and the curves of lines, and the beauty of the ink, and the velvet shining in moonlight

you taste just like everything i’ve wanted tonight

  
  


i want once more 

i’ve meant it once, but now i know

i want your lips, your reddened lips

their subtle spread, the nectar sweet

your lips, good god, those fucking lips

i want your lips around my neck

i want your lips to kiss me dark

the only thing i’d want instead,

your heart, so good, your bleeding heart

  
  
  


the knight 

before he died, he lived again

as the tamely beast pulled out his heart

for in his claws, the organ bled

and showed the knight the light to hark

his silver lord, the only life

the only way to breathe once more

pressed to his lips a kiss, a knife

and loved the knight forevermore

  
  


what we become (it’s 3AM) 

I hope that my death is achingly submerged in black and endlessly dull

So that I may live in your darkness with every color you can imagine

So that you can rub your eyes and almost touch my blinding light

To say that, as I do in life now, I will love you with light and color

In every shade and hue of purple and violet and blue

And every time you see alabaster, my love is pulsing and rising faster

And every time you see it red, it’s breathing with the life you fed

And every time it tinges brown, it’s still that perfect love we found

I hope my death is dull, and cold and dark,

So that I may love you in every way that makes you forget to fall apart.


End file.
